


Broken

by DuskAnarchy



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Comforter Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22032052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuskAnarchy/pseuds/DuskAnarchy
Summary: The very idea of Geralt of Rivia, witcher, and the strongest man Jaskier had ever met, looking this broken, had never crossed Jaskier’s mind before. The thought was simply too absurd to ever have appeared. But Jaskier has eyes, and he’s stood here long enough to know that he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 96
Kudos: 697





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a request. I’ll admit that of all characters, putting Geralt in this position feels the most unlikely. But it is what was requested, and it is what I am writing so here we are.

They’d been in this shithole of a town for almost a week now. Jaskier looked out from the inn’s window to the stronghold in the distance.

“Unless you’ve learned magic somewhere and haven’t told me of it, staring at it isn’t going to do any good.” Yennefer's voice came from behind him.

Coming across her the same day Geralt hadn’t returned from a hunt one day had both been a blessing and a curse. He could not stand her presence, considering all that had happened between them, but he’d been worried about Geralt, and knew she’d help with uncovering what had happened if he’d ask. Something in the back of Jaskier’s mind had told him it had been too unusual a coincidence, but he’d found the thought rather distracting and hadn’t entertained it further.

The hunt Geralt hadn’t returned from had been successful, but he’d been wounded. Wounded enough that the evil cult, called that because neither Jaskier nor Yennefer had any idea why they wanted Geralt, who they were working for, or if they were working for anyone at all, had managed to overpower him and take him. That had been almost 4 weeks ago.

With Yennefer’s magics they’d been able to track them, and cover their own tracks. And that is how Jaskier and Yennefer had found themselves in a backwater town with a stronghold too large for the area, biding their time until their plan could come to fruition.

They’d learned what they needed to. Where Geralt was being held, what sort of magics were being used, and that they’d be having a feast tonight. A feast that Yennefer had managed to get them invited to.

Well no, they were not invited, but as was often the case with these things, wearing a mask would be mandatory, and that allowed for some liberties when it came to one’s identity.

They had caught a magic message being sent by the lady Gryswald, saying she an her son would not be attending, and Yennefer had worked the necessary magics to take their places.

It would soon be time to head there, by portal, of course, one does not arrive at a feast thrown by magic users on foot, and their appearances had been changed to match that of the Lady Gryswald and her son.

“I just hope all will go according to plan” Jaskier Sighed. The fact that Geralt had not made his way out of the clutches of the cult was what worried him most. He was strong and resourceful, and the fact he hadn’t made it out said something of the cult’s powers and knowledge both. Considering the impossible task of subduing a witcher with magics.

“We’ve prepared well enough,” Yennefer replied, not unkindly “besides, their power is low tonight, and mine will spike, I can fight them if I must.” She added, reminding Jaskier why they’d waited for the feast.

They’d surmised it was being held for their own protection. Those that use magic know that their potential power changes according to the circumstances, and tonight, the cult would be weak. Not that their invited guests were to know that, but they were there as a protection against possible assailants.

“It’s time,” She mentioned several minutes later, seeing the lights around the castle begin to dance.

Jaskier turned round to Yennefer, grimacing at the thought of taking the portal. She’d had him go through several for days, just to have him get used to it, after she’d convinced him that it was necessary for him to look at ease after exiting the portal. He’d only stopped throwing up from the experience after 2 days of endless portals.

  
  


Their arrival to the party had gone smoothly. They’d stepped out of the portal, identified themselves as the lady Gryswald and her son and entered. With a look Yennefer had confirmed that their appearance altering magics hadn’t been detected.

They’d mingled with the guests for a short while, as to not arouse suspicion, before sneaking away through a small door intended for servants to head down to the dungeons. Yennefer had to pull jaskier back behind a corner multiple times on their way down, to avoid being seen by the scarce security patrols.

After many hallways and winding staircases, they finally found the door behind which Geralt was being held. Yennefer had seen it before with her magics, but hadn’t been able to look into the room.

“Remember,” She whispered “we don’t know what state he’s in.”

Jaskier looked as if to say “Pshhh, it’s Geralt, surely he’s fine!” But didn’t say anything, and instead softly opened the door. They slipped inside and closed the door behind them. Best the patrols would see nothing amiss on their next round.

As he closed the door, he briefly saw Yennefer's expression. The shock on her face had been unexpected, and he quickly turned to look into the room as well. Unfortunately for him, he had neither cat eyes nor magic to aid his sight, and couldn’t see a thing. Which he quickly voiced to Yennefer.

Soon after the torches in the large room lit up and what he saw shook Jaskier to his core.

The very idea of Geralt of Rivia, witcher, and the strongest man Jaskier had ever met, looking this broken, had never crossed Jaskier’s mind before. The thought was simply too absurd to ever have come into being. But Jaskier had eyes, and he stood here long enough to know that he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

Geralt’s ankles were chained to the floor, and his wrists were chained to the ceiling. Their length did not allow him to lie down, instead he appeared to be sleeping in an awkward kneeling position. His hair had fallen into his face, covering his face.

His armour was lying in a corner, as well as his swords. Yennefer was busy gathering them up and putting them into the large sack they’d brought in case it’d be useful. When she later noticed bloodied clothes that could have been Jaskiers, she said nothing and stuffed those in too, with the thoughts _Not now_ and _The bard is smart enough to put this together_.

Jaskier, meanwhile, had approached Geralt. At first glance there seemed to be no particularly deadly wounds, which Jaskier took as a promising sign that things would be alright. He quickly reached for one of the iron cuffs around Geralt’s wrists, which startled Geralt awake.

If the sight of Geralt asleep hadn’t driven a wedge through Jaskier’s heart, what happened when he woke surely did. First Geralt's head snapped up to the cuff that was being removed. Not recognising the person making the effort, he shrank back in fear, tucking his head back to his chest, further than it had been when he’d slumbered. The arm Jaskier was trying to free now pulled tight, as Geralt did his best to hide away.

Jaskier had seen the raw fear in Geralt’s eyes when his face hadn’t registered as familiar. Before he could react, Geralt had moved away from him, and was pulling at the chain he was trying to remove hard enough to hurt himself.

“Geralt, stop.” He pleaded, sinking down to his knees in front of him and placing a hand on his face softly to get him to look up.

“Hurry, there’s not much time left.” Yennefer said as she finished gathering Geralt's belongings.

Jaskier looked at her quickly and asked “Can you magic him out of the restraints?”

The response he got was a smirk that said _what do you think_ , a wave of her hand, the noise of rattling chains as they settled in the air, and a pair of heavy arms landing on his shoulders.

Yennefer quickly made the portal for them to leave, as Jaskier did what he could to help Geralt stand.

The door to the room burst open, startling all three of them. Yennefer threw the heavy bag she was carrying through the portal, and turned to face their new company.

“I’ll be fine, go!” She yelled, with a little push of magic to motivate them they entered the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So writing Geralt like this even feels wrong, to be quite honest. I sincerely hope that the feeling of wrongness one gets from reading this is the one that is intended. In the next chapter we’ll get to see Jaskier taking care of Geralt, as his appearance changing glamour wears off.


	2. Cleaned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not expect to write 2 chapters in one day. Yet here we are. Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, and/or subscribed. This one’s for you <3

Jaskier’s stomach lurched and his head throbbed. He deduced this is what an unstable portal felt like. _I didn’t hop through portals for days to throw up now._ He thought as he forced his stomach to hold its contents.

Within a second, Jaskier and Geralt exited the portal, getting deposited at their intended location. But rather than a soft landing, they were thrown out of the portal sideways and crashed into the floor.

Geralt landed on his front, over the bag with his stuff, with a groan.

Jaskier tumbled out of the portal, hitting the floor hard with his shoulder, and rolled over sideways before coming to a harsh stop. A table leg halted his tumble, and he bit out a curse under his breath at the pain.

Their intended location was a cabin Yennefer had claimed possession of long ago. It was near the woods, out of the way from any busy towns or traveling routes, and a perfect hideaway. It had everything one would need to get better from just about anything.

While Jaskier regained his senses, Geralt had been quick to draw a dagger from the bag, and had pushed himself away from Jaskier, back against the wall, eyeing him warily.

When Jaskier’s vision cleared, what he saw wasn’t any better than what he’d seen in the dungeon. Geralt, with his back pressed into the wall next to the fireplace. _Magical fireplace, never burns out._ Dagger gripped in his right hand painfully tight, the fire’s reflection dancing across it. Geralt’s eyes were opened too far for his liking, afraid, and darting to the door Jaskier knew was behind him.

Before looking, Jaskier had been ready to get up swiftly, but he really did not want to startle Geralt into trying to go out that door. It was still early in the night, and really, Jaskier’s tracking capabilities left much to be desired.

So instead, Jaskier took a few deep breaths, trying to figure out what to do next. He slowly moved to sit up, eyes not leaving Geralt, watching for a sign of movement. Once he’d maneuvered himself onto his knees, he slowly made to move forward, beginning by stretching his arms in front to indicate that he would be coming closer.

Two things happened at once. Jaskier noticed that his hands were still too large, too burly, and his fingers too short. _I still look like the Gryswald boy,_ He realised.

And if Jaskier hadn’t been there himself, he wouldn’t have believed anyone on the other thing that happened. Geralt _whimpered._ Which, ok, not a good sign.

“Geralt, it’s ok,” Jaskier said gently “I know I don’t look like myself right now, but I’m Jaskier. You’re safe now.”

Geralt’s eyes widened at that, but he didn’t say anything. The mistrust in them was clear enough.

Jaskier suddenly realised that for all of Geralt’s reactions, his own name hadn’t seemed to register.

“Geralt?” He asked softly, and his heart broke a little more when no response came.

Jaskier racked his brain for ways to convince the cowering man that he was who he said he was, but came up empty.

“Hey?” He tried instead, seeing if he could get Geralt to talk to him or at least acknowledge his words, but this too did not get him anywhere.

Geralt’s eyes were still darting to the door from time to time. Jaskier decided to change tactics.

“I know you’re looking at the door to see if you can make it.” He said softly. “Please, don’t run, I want to help.” He added softly.

This at least earned him some response, and yet it was decidedly not the kind that he’d have liked.

You see, what Geralt did in response to the soft spoken request, was to manoeuvre onto his knees, bow forward, placing his hands palms down on the floor, dagger clattering to the floor abandoned at his side, and touched his head to the floor between his hands.

Jaskier choked as he watched his friend do this. Geralt’s knees were bloody and dirty, and his upper back and the sides of his arms had marks that could only have been caused by whips, canes, and other torturing tools. A particularly nasty wound on Geralt's neck stood out, likely from where a whip and wrapped around it. Geralt was trembling.

Jaskier knew that even though he didn’t want to take advantage, this was a good time to move forward. And so he did, as fast as he dared. He could see Geralt trying to make himself small. His hindbrain tried to make a joke about the impossibility of a man as tough and large as Geralt attempting such a thing. Not even his own hindbrain found it funny at the moment.

Once within reach, he first quickly took the dagger and stored it behind his back in his belt. He’d have preferred to remove it from Geralt’s reach completely, but knew that wasn’t an option at the time. Throwing it would be too loud, and moving away again just to remove it didn’t even cross his mind as viable idea.

The dagger dealt with for the moment, he gently placed two fingers on one of Geralt's hands.

“Geralt?” He tried again, but still did not get a response.

“Do you at least remember your name?” He tried. The way the words formed on unfamiliar vocal chords made the words sound more like a sarcastic remark, and not at all like a worried question. Jaskier didn’t dwell on the thought that he should have looked like himself by now, and instead focused entirely on Geralt.

Jaskier didn’t know how many more heartbreaking moments he’d be able to take. In his heart he knew that _as many as it takes_ was the answer.

Geralt seemed to shake his head, then drew in a shuddering breath. Then in one exhale quickly came the words “I’m a witcher and deserve no name.”

Jaskier thought that was it, was ready to tell him that his name was Geralt, and no need to spout such nonsense as not deserving a name, when on the next exhale Geralt continued, “Im am not human, and show no emotion.”

“No” Jaskier tried to interrupt, but Geralt continued, “I have no other purpose than to hunt the monsters summoned by the conjoining of the spheres.”

Jaskier listened, mortified, thinking that that was it.

“The monsters are dwindling, my efforts will need to be-”

“Please, Stop.” Jaskier begged, he could not hear this anymore. What he did not understand in the slightest, was how anyone could have possibly broken Geralt in the span of 4 weeks. Over his many years of travel, he’d come across a few broken souls, but from what he’d learned of their tales, usually told by those closest to them, didn’t match with what he was seeing. Geralt breaking in such little time made no sense. Before today he’d have thought it impossible to break Geralt in his lifetime. Which did raise the question of what _had_ broken him.

Geralt had stopped talking, and Jaskier realised with horror that Geralt had done so simply because he’d said so. It made Jaskier sick to his stomach, but he reminded himself that he’d said please, and his request hadn’t harmed Geralt, so that was something.

Jaskier decided that if his appearance wasn’t changed yet, but Geralt would listen to his requests, he could at least get him, and his wounds, clean.

“Can you stand?” He asked softly.

The surprise at the question was evident in Geralt, but he only replied with a soft yes.

Jaskier was glad and said, “I’ll help you up,” as he softly wrapped his hand under the one he’d been lightly touching.

Geralt was lead to the bathroom easily. If he was surprised at the warm bath being ready, even though it was clear there hadn’t been anyone to prepare it, he didn’t show it.

Jaskier had discreetly disposed of the dagger on their way to the bath, and was not surprised at the warm bath. Like most things in the cottage, it was enchanted for convenience. An ever-warm bath that cleaned itself was just one of many things Yennefer had said he’d find here. And if it were to help Geralt, he wasn’t going to complain about magical conveniences.

Bathing Geralt went more or less as Jaskier had in mind. He’d helped Geralt bathe before, and he could tell that the routine did feel familiar to Geralt. It was why when he picked a bath salt to add, he picked chamomile. He hoped that the familiar smell would stir familiar memories, and serve as a way to assure Geralt.

Not much was said. Only a short request here and there for Geralt to move several body parts, so Jaskier would be able to help him get clean, and tend to his various wounds.

He’d noticed Geralt slowly relax, if only slightly. The routine had swept him up too, he decided to not pay it too much mind and continue what he was doing, seeing as the desired result was being reached.

It wasn’t until he went from softly humming to singing that Jaskier realised that he had been humming at all. He’d been humming since shortly after Geralt had gotten into the water. Been humming _his_ song.

Geralt tensed at the soft words, somewhat accustomed to the voice requesting him to do something by now. But in what he heard he found no request, and instead listened, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Toss a coin to your witcher, O valley of plenty, O valley of plenty,” the singing softly continued, sounding more and more like Jaskier.

Jaskier had been noticing that his hands were shifting back, noticed that his voice was becoming his own again. He finished cleaning his friend has he finished his song.

A quick glance at a nearby mirror confirmed that he looked like himself again, and he crouched next to the bathtub in front of Geralt, arms leaning on the edge of the tub, leaning his head on them.

Jaskier had been behind Geralt for most of the time it took to get cleaned, and Geralt only now got to see that his friend’s appearance had returned. The look was one of disbelief and wonder.

“J- Jaskier?” Came Geralt’s broken whisper.

 _Yes Jaskier, like I’ve been telling you, idiot,_ Was his mind’s witty reply, but instead he just said, “Yes, Geralt?” With a raised eyebrow and an unsure smirk.

“You...” Geralt began, raising his arm out of the water to reach for Jaskier, halting as Jaskier glanced at it when it was just above the water.

“It’s okay, go ahead,” Jaskier softly encouraged, with an even softer smile.

The moment Geralt’s hand touched Jaskier’s cheek, it was like something clicked in Geralt. Jaskier could see it on his face. Real recognition, understanding of the situation. Understanding that yes _Jaskier is here_ and yes _he is safe now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, I’m well aware that the magical all-convenience cottage in the middle of nowhere where these two wont be disturbed is.. well... convenient? Is it too much or does it feel right for the tone of the fic?  
> I have to admit that I’m not used to the way I’m writing this fic. There is definitely a plot in the back of my mind for this, and what im trying is that by the end of it, questions that have been raised by the story so far will be answered. I’m just focussing on the interactions between these two for now. Does it feel this way? Which questions do you have that haven’t yet been answered?
> 
> Small preview:  
> Suddenly, there was water EVERYWHERE.


	3. Rock and a Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has definitely been difficult to write. More on that in the end notes, no spoilers here! It’s slightly shorter than I’d have liked, or planned, but still feels right to make it a chapter on its own, rather than make it a chapter with 2 separate parts and feels.  
> As per usual, a big thank you to everyone who left kudos, commented or subscribed! And if you are just lurking here, thank you too!  
> Enjoy!

Jaskier could see Geralt’s brain working. Geralt’s hand was still resting on his cheek, disregarded by both of them. The words that decided to come out of Geralt’s mouth first made _no sense_ in the current circumstances.

“Where’s Roach?” Geralt asked, all serious and gruff and exactly how Jaskier remembered him.

“What?” Came Jaskier’s dumb reply, after slowly blinking twice wondering if that was really what Geralt just asked.

Geralt merely grunted with a face that said _did I fucking stutter?_

“Roach is fine, Yen will bring her here when she can. But Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re captured by an evil cult for 4 weeks, I spend an hour cleaning you up while you’re catatonic. Now you’re back to yourself and _that_ is what you want to know first?”

It was Geralt’s turn to blink twice. Jaskier didn’t like the glint that appeared in his eyes, not knowing what it was about. Before he could ask after it, there was water _everywhere_.

In his face, like a tidal wave going over the tub, running over his chest, over his back, and into his trousers, he was soaking wet in but a moment. Jaskier had closed his eyes against the onslaught of the water, and thought that was it. The thought of Geralt splashing water in his face as retaliation seemed odd. _And next time splash, don’t impersonate a drowner,_ his mind supplied, but he didn’t get to voice that either, as he felt the hand on his cheek now pressing his head down painfully, essentially trapping his hands beneath his head, and something sharp at his throat, being held by Geralt's other hand. _Uh oh,_ and _the fuck?!_ His mind unhelpfully supplied.

Before he had a chance to decide how to react, he’d already made a rather undignified sound somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. It had been intended as an exclamation of the other man's name, but that intent was lost before the sound was halfway through his throat.

Blinking open his eyes against the water, he was met with the view of Geralt’s face, scowl present, less than an inch from his face. He looked murderous, dangerous glint in his eyes, which were snapping back and forth looking into Jaskier’s eyes, as if looking for something.

“Geralt?” He squeaked, slight tinge of fear in his voice, because an angry Geralt was definitely a scary Geralt. All he got in response was a near-feral sounding growl, and more pressure on his head.

Jaskier winced against the pain of the pressure on his hands and skull, but kept his eyes on Geralt’s. Surely, Geralt won’t _actually_ hurt him, so what harm is there in giving Geralt the time to find whatever he’s looking for in his eyes?

“Years,” Geralt finally ground out between gritted teeth, as if that explained why Jaskier had found himself stuck between Geralt’s hand and the rim of the tub. _Rock, hard place._ Jaskier’s witty mind supplied.

Jaskier’s confusion however had registered on his face, which at least motivated Geralt to try to clarify what he’d meant.

“Almost 4 years.” Came Geralt's clarification with a grunt. Which really didn’t clarify that much _thank you very much_ . Until it did. Jaskier blinked, and suddenly things, sort of, clicked together. The glamour taking longer to wear off, the instability of the portal Yen had made, Geralt’s hair way longer than it should have been. _Which, really, how did I not properly notice that?_

“The cult messed with time,” Jaskier realised out loud. “Geralt, it’s been 4 weeks since _I_ last saw you.”

Geralt pressed down on his head a little harder still. _Ow! Is that really necessary?_

“Convince me.” Geralt all but demanded from his friend.

“Of what exactly, Geralt?” Jaskier began, with a light, conversational tone of voice that belied the situation. The back of his mind knew exactly of what Geralt wanted to be convinced. “That Roach is fine? That Yen is a sorceress? That you’re fucking terrifying me? Or perhaps that it has only been-”

Geralt’s impatient growl cut him off, but the pressure on his head let up lightly. Clearly prattling on had been helpful.

Jaskier blinked once, slowly.

“Chamomile,” he said calmly, with a meaningful look at the tub.

The pressure on his head let up once more, still holding him down, but no longer painful. Geralt was almost convinced.

“Oh, you usually just let strangers rub Chamomile ont-”

A look from Geralt was enough to let the last of the sentence hang in the air, directed his way as Geralt sat back and let his arms fall back into the water, after dropping whatever he’d pressed to Jaskier’s throat to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, going from utterly broken geralt to almost-normal geralt to murderous geralt to uncertain geralt is... hmm, I have whiplash, really. I really hope I did Geralt being a bit more himself justice, and that it feels right. Let me know what you think!  
> As for Jaskier, I’m trying very hard to not let his witty nature be buried by the mood. Do you feel it works and fits with the story?  
> Jaskier still doesn’t know the worst of what happened to Geralt. The plan is to have it, at least some of it, come to light in the next chapter. (it had been planned for this one, but, as per the beginning notes, it felt best to wrap the chapter here)
> 
> I've removed a part of the bottom of this chapter after posting. It was rushed, and didn't do the story justice. The next chapter will be a far more written out version of what was here previously. If you feel like this chapter ended too abruptly, that is most likely why.


	4. Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt shares some of what he’s experienced. Jaskier Listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a bit painfull. It’s the replacement of the removed end of the previous chapter, which I’d rushed, and it didn’t deserve that treatment. It was difficult to write, but here it is!

The object that had been pressed to his throat earlier clattering to the floor ringed in Jaskier’s ears. He discerned it was a nail, likely retrieved by Geralt from the side of the tub. Which, he hoped, wouldn’t damage it’s magical properties and cause inconveniences.

Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief now the tense moment was over and closed his eyes. “ Next time you feel the need to consider killing me, might I suggest you give me some warning first?” Jaskier asked with a joking tone, attempting to lighten the mood. It wasn’t until he’d rotated his neck and wrists for a moment to clear the worst of the pain, that he reopened his eyes and saw Geralt’s reaction to his words.

The first thing Jaskier noticed was Geralt’s eyes. They were open far too wide, glassy in a way that unsettled Jaskier greatly, and instantly made him feel regret at his thoughtless words. They’d been intended as a joke, and Jaskier was now cursing himself for not considering his words properly.

Soon after, he saw Geralt had begun to tremble, accentuated disturbingly by the ripples being formed in the water.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked softly. Geralt blinked at that, which Jaskier hoped was because he was reacting to his voice, rather than simple coincidence.

“I’m sorry if what I said upset you, I didn’t mean to.” he continued, attempting to see if his hope was right.

Geralt blinked a few more times, no longer trembling, eyes becoming more focussed. He seemed rather distracted though, eyes darting around the room.

“Geralt?” Jaskier tried again. Geralt blinked a few more times, swallowing thickly. Finally, his eyes refocussed on Jaskier.

“Hmm?”  _ Go on. _ Jaskier heard.

“I know you’re not one for words but,” Jaskier began softly, “please tell me what happened?”

“Hmm.”  _ Nope. _

“Geralt, clearly things happened. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what happened. I-” Jaskier had to swallow the lump in his throat before continuing, “I can’t avoid doing things that upset you if I don’t know what to avoid doing.”

Geralt was still looking at Jaskier, a look on his face that jaskier couldn’t quite place.

“Geralt, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, or if you can’t, but-”  _ but what? _ Jaskier thought to himself after the words he’d spoken so sympathetically. “No but, nevermind.” He added quietly.

“Hmm”  _ Fine. _

Jaskier Looked at Geralt expectantly at that, waiting patiently as the Witcher settled a little deeper into the tub and closed his eyes. With a shuddering sigh, he began to tell his friend of the fate that had befallen him.

“The hunt I set out on when we last spoke,” Geralt began, voice far thicker than Jaskier was used to from his friend, but remarkably steady. “Their information was flawed. When I found the Wyvern, I was in for a tougher fight than anticipated. It was stronger and faster than typical, and was in no way wounded from the ballista’s bolt.”

Jaskier could tell that Geralt wanted to tell his story without interruption, and so he leaned on the tub to stay warm in his soaked clothes, waiting for Geralt to continue.

“I killed it, but not before it got a few hits in. My potions had worn off, and the bloodloss made my senses hazy. That’s how they managed to sneak up on me, inject me with too much potion, knocked me out.”

Geralt paused, his face furrowed, looking for the words to continue.

“The next few days were a blur. They force-fed me potions to keep me unconscious.”

Jaskier couldn’t suppress his gasp at that information. He was fairly convinced this was only the beginning of what they’d put Geralt through, and it pained him to hear the story. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he reminded himself that he needed to hear this to help.

“Then I woke and they didn’t give me a potion, they’d chained me where you found me, fed me and brought me water. Then the-”

Geralt swallowed thickly. There was faint nausea settling in Jaskier stomach from how many uncharacteristic things he was witnessing in Geralt.  _ What had these bastards done? _

“Then the interrogations began. Torture. They stopped asking their questions after a few months. The only words I’d spoken were insults. Their visits became irregular from there on out.”

Again Geralt paused. Again Jaskier waited for Geralt to find the words.

“When they did visit, it would be more of the same. They tried starving me several times in the next months. What little they fed me during that time was strange.”

Another frown appeared on Geralt’s face, but this time he continued more quickly.

“I suppose they figured, physical torture wasn’t getting them anywhere, they changed tactics. First, they just tried to trick me or to get me angry. They fed me well, just locked me in that cursed room without much to do. For a couple of weeks, things were quite comfortable.”

_ Leave it to Geralt to find a moment of comfort while being tortured. _

“Later, I’m not sure how they did it, they used magic to deceive me. At first, it was subtle. Manipulated the light coming from the windows to throw me off. Fed me with food that wouldn’t reach my stomach. In hindsight, it was on purpose, but they started making mistakes then. Leaving things in the room, or near me. Made me think I had a chance of escaping. The first time I tried to escape, they let me think I’d made it to the front gate. I heard laughing, couldn’t tell from where. Next thing I knew, I was back in chains.”

A sound of frustration came from Geralt before he continued.

“Then the cycle began. Starvation, torture, every day. Then less often, halfway decent food. Mistakes. I’d try to escape. Back to starvation. Each cycle new somehow. Different. New torture, new rhythms, new food, new mistakes, new ways of thinking I could escape. Sometimes, they’d transform one of their own to look like you, had you come and save me. I figured them out fairly quickly each time they tried that. Never got you right, untill...”

Geralt paused once more, eyes now open staring at the ceiling, a distant look in his eyes.

“My last escape attempt, a month or two ago-”

Geralt paused again.  _ Clearly, something absolutely terrible happened. _

“They got it right. Used you against me in the most effective way. I don’t think I’ve even spoken since then.”

What Geralt hadn’t mentioned, rather obviously, was what it had been the cult had done that had taken his spirit. Jaskier could tell it had been on purpose. That Geralt wasn’t ready to speak of it. That Geralt was done talking about what happened.

If Geralt would ever speak of it, Jaskier didn’t know. Geralt was not one to use many words, and he’d already shared far more than normal over the past minutes. Whether that would mean more sharing, or a used up quota for the coming time, he wasn’t sure.

“Thank you for telling me that, I think I know something that will help.” Jaskier settled on saying, waiting for Geralt to participate in conversion with him. All he got was another grunt, but that only meant Geralt was feeling like himself. That was just fine with Jaskier. The grunt had been a prompt to continue, and so he did.

“I’ll go change into some dry clothes, and then I can make something to eat. How does that sound?”

“Hmm.”  _ That sounds great Jaskier, thank you, you’re such a nice friend. Sorry for almost drowning you earlier. _ Jaskier knew that wasn’t what Geralt had meant with that grunt, but couldn’t resist embellishing it in his head. He was a poet after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pfew. Everyone okay?  
> I finally found some time to write again. What with moving and a fire happening at the old apartment, things have been batshit crazy to handle. luckily no stuff (or people) damaged, but moving is taking a lot of time and effort. Hopefully I’ll be able to work on the next chapter soon, but untill then I do hope this will keep you all engaged!  
> To everyone who has commented, left kudos, and all such things; thank you!  
> And once again, please let me know what you think! Whether you just want to point out something in particular you enjoyed, or prefer to be critical of what I’ve written, as long as you are polite, any comment is welcome!


	5. Rested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter... I've been grappling with it for over a month. I'm not entirely sure why it turned out such a difficult chapter to write, but I am choosing to post it now, even if it's rather short. I do hope you enjoy!

Jaskier took a quick bath after Geralt left to get the chill from being soaked with water off his skin and got dressed. When he returned to the main room a few minutes later, he found Geralt sitting on the pelt rug near the fire, working on repairing his armour. The cult’s time magic had affected the armour, and it was worn from age. Geralt’s swords were on a table nearby, and the bag with remaining contents tucked away in a corner.

Jaskier could tell by the way Geralt’s shoulders shifted that Geralt had noticed him come in. When that didn’t prompt Geralt to stop what he was doing, Jaskier surmised things were fine, at least for now.

“So, hungry? How does a stew sound?” Jaskier asked, with almost his usual pleasant cheery tone.

“Hmmm.” Came another grunt, this time signifying something along the lines of  _ much better than anything I’ve had recently _ .

And so, Jaskier set to work, gathering the ingredients he would need and the tools to prepare them, and set to work.

The two worked on their tasks quietly for a while. After some time Geralt took his silver sword from the table, and sat on the pelt rug in front of the fireplace and began sharpening it with a whetstone. The rhythmic sound gave Jaskier a rhythm to work to, and soon he was humming something that somewhat harmonized with the metallic sound.

Once the food was ready sometime later, he filled two bowls. By this time Geralt had finished with cleaning and sharpening his swords and put them away. He’d been staring into the fire, mind drifting, instead.

When Jaskier handed him the bowl, he took it with a startled expression and muttered a quiet thanks, before digging into the bowl hungrily.

Jaskier sat down next to Geralt, but rather than touching his own food, he was watching Geralt wolf it down. It was a little unsettling to see how fast he was eating, considering it said something about his state of malnourishment, but also good to see him enjoy the food.

Geralt finished his bowl before Jaskier touched his own, and Jaskier could tell by Geralt's expression that he wanted more. He’d always eaten quite a lot when given the chance. With a chuckle, Jaskier handed Geralt his own full bowl and took the empty one, and went to refill it.

With his back turned, Jaskier didn't get to see the complex reaction that Geralt had to such a simple gesture.

First, an expression of wonder at being given a second serving, without even having to ask at that, followed by a nearly inaudible sigh as he briefly closed his eyes, a small smile settling upon his face, before beginning to eat the second bowl more slowly.

They ate in companionable silence, Geralt eating two more bowls, before cleaning up in preparation for turning in for the night. Granted, it was almost early morning, but that was beside the point. After Jaskier showed Geralt where the beds could be found, Geralt moved into the room to get into bed, clearly exhausted and looking forward to some proper sleep. Jaskier, however, stayed in the doorway, leaning against it.

Jaskier had been worrying about what would be the sensible thing to do. They used to huddle for warmth (and, not that Geralt would admit it, comfort) back when they travelled together on the road, but he didn't want to make him uncomfortable, or  _ worse _ .

Bringing the topic up, however, carried the risk of causing exactly what he's trying to avoid. So Jaskier decided to leave it up to Geralt to say something.

“Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“I'll take the bed over here, do let me know if there's something you need, will you?”

“Hmmm.”  _ I won’t need anything, Jaskier, go to sleep. _

With an exasperated sigh and a fond smile, Jaskier too got ready to get some sleep. He was still worried about Geralt of course, but some sleep would do them both good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, pretty short huh?! I do hope that you did enjoy it. A good bit more relaxed and calmer than what came before it, which honestly they do derve. I'm hoping to lose this blocking energy by wrapping the chapter up and moving on. (Have I just written a barely angsty hurt/comfort chapter?)
> 
> I always love to hear your thoughts, so let me know what you think!  
> What do you think of this chapter?  
> What do you think of the story so far?  
> What do you think will happen next?  
> What do you think I could improve in my writing technically?
> 
> And my question to you; I feel pretty unconfident about tagging. I worry that my stories end up under-tagged because of it. which tags (that are or are not currently used) do you think fit this story? Any general tagging advice? Thanks in advance!
> 
> Pick any of those or let me know about something else! <3


	6. Sleep(less)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while yadayayda, life is crazy yadayada.  
> Had to wrangle this chapter into shape, you've definitely heard this before. Go and read it then feed me (ie leave a comment to let me know what you think)!

Jaskier has been lying in the bed, waiting for sleep that would not come. He’s heard Geralt tossing and turning for the past hour or so, and knows for a fact sleep is eluding them both. He’s been considering saying something, but for said past hour has been wondering what he should say. He has many words that want to fall from his lips, but every time he reels them back in, fairly sure they won’t help.

It's been terribly stressful to bite his tongue this much. He can tell that it helps, he can figure out the things he should avoid. Don’t startle him. Don’t speak without thinking. There’s many more things on the list, not all as easily defined with words. Reminders to be nicer. Reminders that their usual banter might be difficult for a while. What he finds particularly difficult, is that the list of  _ what to avoid _ is getting quickly longer, while  _ what actually helps _ is still a frustratingly blank page in his head.

So he’s just lying there, pretending to already be asleep, listening to Geralt who is certainly not pretending to be asleep. It’s particularly unsettling because Jaskier knows Geralt as the type of person who sleeps whenever they want. And on the rare occasions he cannot, he’ll meditate and be so quiet one wouldn’t know the difference. So he’s particularly out of his depth when it comes to dealing with a sleepless, Geralt. Especially a sleepless Geralt that is definitely tired and clearly  _ wants _ to be asleep.

Just when he’s about ready to give up on finding the best words to start a dialogue, he realises he’s been humming. Soothing tunes, the kind his mother would hum for him at night in his youth. It’s no matter, really, because it worked to lull Geralt to sleep. Jaskier would’ve liked to analyse that particular occurrence further, but finds that sleep soon overtakes him as well, now that he is not as worried about his favorite witcher.

  
  


When Jaskier next wakes, the sun is starting to rise outside. Which means, he barely slept at all and it's way too early to be woken by weird noises from far away. If it woke him, surely it will wake Geralt too, if it hasn't already. Grumpy from lack of sleep, he retreats from the harsh morning light into his blankets.

But, as the strange noise comes again, he realises the noise, it sounds kind of scratchy, isn't coming from far away at all.

More curious than annoyed now, Jaskier begrudgingly folds back the blankets and looks around the room with bleary eyes. His eyes are still unused to the brightness. As he allows his eyes some time to adjust and focus, he's forced to choke back a sob.

Geralt is sitting on the floor, his back to him, but form the movement and sounds he can make out enough. He's scratching at the floor. And it sounds like with a fair bit of force too.

"Geralt?" he asks softly. But it's clear he isn't heard. Not for lack of volume, however.

He gets up slowly and slips closer, kneels next to him and cover's Geralt's hands with his own to keep him from hurting himself further.

"Geralt?" He tries again. Gets a response this time. Narrowly manages to dodge the elbow that comes flying up to hit him in the jaw, and retreats to try and show Geralt that he means no harm. He's not sure he's being seen, however. Geralt's eyes look vacant. Still sleeping, Jaskier guesses. Or at least not awake yet.

"Geralt?" He decides to try again after a few tense moments.  _ Three time's the charm _ , he thinks with fake cheer. Geralt does seem to hear him though, and some color returns to his face. Not that he normally has much of it. All relative, you see.

Geralt's arms move forward, and Jaskier expects he needs to dodge them again. It's the look in Geralt's eyes that make him stay where he is. Which ends him up where he finds himself a few minutes later. Tucked into Geralt's arms, lying on the bed. Big heavy witcher sprawled half on top of him. Somehow he's not being crushed, and Geralt? Fast asleep. Making… well, they sound like happy noises, and while that seems very unlikely, Jaskier would rather get some more sleep than analyze this particular occurrence.


	7. Day after Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit heavy. There's some sweet lighthearted stuff, but mostly- well, you know why you're here. Read on...

The next few days go by in a blur and bleed together due to their repetitiveness. It's not that each day is exactly like the last. Not really. It's that it's still, effectively, all the same.

It's the mornings Jaskier dreads the most. He wakes alone, in a cold bed. After a moment of staring at the ceiling, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. He freshens up and gets ready to face the day. The first morning Geralt's absence scared him, now he's used to it and starts the day with a small shake of his head.

When he gets to the living area, he finds it empty. No surprise there either. He grabs his coat from the hook by the door and sets off into the morning chill to find where his favourite Witcher is on this particular morning.

It's not that Geralt wants to leave, or that he doesn't want to be near Jaskier. If either was the case, it wouldn't have been so easy to find the Witcher somewhere near Yenn's cottage.

On this particular morning, it takes Jaskier considerably less time to find Geralt than usual. Today he merely needs to follow his ears. He finds Geralt in the back courtyard, sparring with a makeshift training dummy.

It's a better way to find him than most of the recent mornings. He'd somehow, always, managed to convince himself he was still in that accursed dungeon. This is a most welcome change. It turns out not to mean much in the grand scheme of Geralt's recovery.

Once Jaskier manages to coax Geralt to come back inside, an easier task today, but still quite a feat, the Witcher suddenly finds himself tired, like every other day. Jaskier smiles. Then he makes sure Geralt is comfortable by the fire and makes them both something to eat. They eat in relative silence. Meaning, Jaskier tries to coax the other into a conversation, but Geralt won't engage.

Before, Jaskier hates that he thinks like that now. Like there's two Geralts, one from before he was taken, and one after. He knows damn well there's only one geralt, but his thoughts betray him all the same. Before, even if Geralt wasn't feeling talkative, he could goad him into something. Now he's lucky if he gets one of the grunts or looks he used to dread. The grunts sound distant. And the looks, well, distant fits there too, he supposes.

After the meal, Geralt is nodding off. Jaskier tries, and like most days fails, to prod Geralt into at least going to sleep in a bed or any surface softer than the carpet by the fire. With a sigh Jaskier sets about the few tasks he does each day. He checks on the garden, and the crops that grow in it. It is currently their livelihood and he knows better than to abandon it.

As he works, he remembers 5, maybe 6, days ago. He found Geralt furiously digging in a patch of crops. He'd convinced himself it's where the bard was buried. It took Jaskier two hours just to get his Witcher inside to eat that day. Most of the crops from this unlucky patch are struggling now, their roots and leaves damaged. Nothing a bit of gardening and care won't fix with time.

He decides on the meal for the day, and gathers the crops he'll use while he's out here. In a separate basket, he gathers what he needs for the rest of his tasks for the day. Then he heads back inside, ready to take a break from the hard work.

Truthfully, he only takes the break so he can come inside and check in on Geralt. He tends to sleep through most of the afternoon, but once or twice he's found him awake. Eyes wide, slightly panicked look to them. It only lasts a moment after Jaskier comes into the room, and then they promptly fall closed and Geralt is dead to the world for a few more hours. Since then Jaskier doesn't even consider not checking on Geralt. Finding Geralt is still asleep today, he sets aside the ingredients and heads back out with his supplies.

He goes and takes care of the animals. They mostly receive feed from a magical dispenser, because of course, they do, but jaskier likes to bring the animals something fresh each day, and the animals seem grateful for it. He gathers here what he'll need until tomorrow, and is on his way once more.

He checks in on Geralt once more. He's always asleep when he does, but needs the reassurance that he's not chosen this particular day to change that. Assurances had, he turns around and heads to the small workplace in the back of the garden courtyard. On the way there, he gets himself some water to make sure he doesn't dehydrate himself as he cares for Geralt. If you asked, he's not so sure he could confidently say he has been doing so every day, as he should be.

Once he's seated at the workbench, he gets to work. He willfully ignored the voice in the back of his head that asks him, every day, if he should be doing what he's doing. Not because he's bad at it. Oh no, he's rather good at brewing witcher potions. Contrary to popular belief, he does actually pay attention. No, it's the traitorous side of his mind, or maybe the realistic one, that asks him if he should put in so much effort into a gift that he may never get the opportunity to give. With Geralt's current state it seems unlikely… Jaskier doesn't want to think about it. He grinds, mixes and brews the basic potions he knows Geralt will need when they set out on the Path again. They will. He knows it.

After an hour two, depending on the particular potions he works on that day, he cleans up and heads back inside. He starts on dinner right after. Cutting, chopping, marinating, all of it. He learned to cook once from a lovely maiden in a tavern bar. He doesn't feel like reminiscing, perhaps he'll remember the details another day.

Jaskier guesses it's the smell that usually wakes Geralt up when he's nearly done making their dinner. There's always an uncertain look in Geralt's eyes, right up until Jaskier offers him a plate or bowl. Then there's a flash of surprise, and then a genuine smile, and a look of wonderment. He still needs to get used to seeing that sort of emotion on Geralt's face. Geralt eats his dinner without so much as a word, but Jaskier has seen the small smile that plays over his lips, whenever he has glanced over while eating himself. He's not sure what it's about, but he's glad to see it all the same.

Some days, Geralt wants to eat more than one serving. Geralt communicates awfully little these days, let alone using words. On these days, he hears Geralt suck in a breath, as if steeling himself, and asking, with a small voice "More, please, Jaskier?" which, for one, absolutely breaks his heart, because that is now how Geralt speaks. Two, Geralt is a big man, and the voice seems entirely out of place coming from him. Three, it doesn't sound like a pleasantry, but like he truly is afraid he'll be told no. In the sense of being told no with a beating. Jaskier never eats a second serving these days.

In the evening, they typically sit by the fire in silence. It's not quite companionable, but it's not an unpleasant quiet. Jaskier typically plays a few songs. He tried to compose at first, but inspiration eludes him. Geralt, basically just sits by the fire. Someone less familiar with Witchers might think he was meditating. But Geralt sits back against a chair, still always on the floor, and lets his head fall back.

Some days, Geralt's head rolls to the side while Jaskier is playing. Jaskier is sure he's missed it some days. When he catches Geralt staring, because that is what he's doing, the next things to happen have been wildly different. The first day, he made the mistake of winking at Geralt. That had ended in a case of following Geralt out into the dark and having to coax the man out of a panic attack. No idea what to make of that episode, Jaskier took a more subtle approach each time after that. He's settled on sending a small smile back Geralt's way when he catches him at it and then returning his attention to his music. Neither of them draws attention to the number of mistakes he makes in his playing the rest of these nights.

When Jaskier grows tired, he gets yawny. Jaskier yawning has become this signal to it being time to head off to sleep. They head to the bedroom, and when they're in their breeches, Geralt grabs the bard and hauls them both into the bed. This is the one thing that has been truly consistent since they got here. Geralt is asleep before his head hits the pillow, and is gone again the next morning when Jaskier wakes.

And then on some days, Geralt has decided he wants to bathe. The first time was rather confusing. Geralt hasn't been the type to leave a bottle of oil set out on a table before, but Jaskier figured it out easily after opening the bottle and being greeted by the smell of chamomile. He draws a bath instead of working on the potions, and these days Geralt seems most like himself. Which is still painfully far from how Jaskier knows him.

And so, one by one, the days bleed together.


End file.
